Broken Wings
by Starlit Anabelle
Summary: An act of desperation sends the future spiraling on a different course than what was planned by the divine. Victims of one of the most powerful curses in the history of the realms, two brothers find themselves trapped within the prison of fairytales. But when a ghost appears in Storybrooke, the past begins to catch up with them. Will destiny right itself after all?
1. Pilot

Author's Note: So, hey guys, guess what, I'm not dead! But um, first time I've posted something up in a long time (not to mention first time I've really written something in a long time), so buckle in. For the Supernatural end of this, I'm putting the point of time where this all began for the Winchesters just a couple episodes before the end of the third season. That's right, instead of hunting Mr. Frankenalchemist in episode 3x15, they get tangled up in this whole mess (which will all be explained in time). On the Once Upon a Time end, this is right after "True North", episode 1x09. Now, the stage all is set, so let's dive right in.

* * *

"Really?!" a frustrated blond exclaimed as her car began to slow to a stop. The radio had already died, now the car itself was starting to go. She pulled herself over to the side of the road, groaning and leaning back, covering her face with her hands. "Because of course. Because my car actually running would mean that something was going _right_ for me."

A knock on her window nearly made the woman jump a little, and she uncovered her face to look at the red-haired man peering through her window. "Oh…" she said, letting out a sigh as she moved to roll down the window. "Dr. Hopper…"

"Sheriff Swan?" the redhead peered at her with an expression of concern. "You don't look well. Is everything alright?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, everything's…" Emma started to fall short before shaking her head. If she couldn't talk to an actual _therapist_ about her problems, then who could she talk to? "Well, no, everything's not exactly alright."

Dr. Hopper nodded a little, sympathetic. "It's about Sheriff Graham, isn't it?"

Emma rubbed her temples, sitting back in her car. "Yes…" She paused. "…No…I don't know. At the moment it's not really, my car just sort of broke down…"

"Oh!" Dr. Hopper slid away from the car window, moving to grab his cell phone. "Let me call you in a tow truck then. You've never really had to call for one around here before, have you?"

"Not yet, no," Emma replied, attempting to turn the car back on to see if she could discern the problem. At the moment, nothing. No radio, no lights…not even a sound of reassurance from the engine. "Crap…" she muttered, sitting back.

"Hi, it's Dr. Hopper. I'm here with the sheriff; she seems to be having a little bit of car trouble?" The therapist paused, then leaned over, back down to the window. "Any idea what kind of trouble?"

"Yeah, the car's not turning on at all," Emma sighed, leaning back in her seat for a moment before opening the door and getting out.

"She says the car isn't starting," Dr. Hopper replied. He paused for another moment, twisted around to look at the street signs. "Yeah, we're on…Briar Street. It's the yellow Volkswagen." Pause. "Alright. Okay, great. We'll be waiting." Hanging up, he looked over at Emma. "He said he'll be here in a few minutes."

Emma raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "Only a few minutes?"

"Yeah," Dr. Hopper replied with a slight grin. "It's one of the advantages of living in a small town." He looked around, then back at Emma. "Can I take you anywhere once you've spoken to the mechanic? I walked to work today, but my house is just down the street from the garage."

The blond thought for a moment before shaking her head. "Uh, no. No thanks. I was just going to Granny's for some lunch; I can walk." She grinned slightly. "One of the advantages of living in a small town."

Dr. Hopper chuckled and shook his head. "Well, at least you still have your humor," he said. His look becoming more sympathetic, he added, "But seriously. I've barely seen you since Sheriff Graham died. I understand how his death could've affected you; he was your boss, after all. Please, feel free to come by my office if you ever feel like you need to talk."

Emma's smile faded a little bit as she looked down at the ground, then back up, brushing some of the hair away from her face. "Yeah, I…I will." Her smile returned again, although this time it didn't quite reach her eyes. "To be honest, with all the work at keeping this job to begin with, and all the work that comes with it…" She shrugged. "Storybrooke may be a small town, but there's a hell of a lot going on in it. And then between that and Henry…and Regina…"

"And it's good that you have things to keep you busy in the wake of everything," Dr. Hopper agreed. "But don't try to keep it all bundled up inside; it isn't healthy." He tilted his head. "How are things going between you and Henry?"

"Hasn't he already told you?" Emma asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He has," Dr. Hopper replied. "But it's always best to hear from both parties, if possible. People don't always feel the same, after all."

Emma nodded, then sighed. "Difficult," she replied. "I mean-not so much with me and Henry. But Regina's still making it as difficult as possible to speak with him."

Dr. Hopper nodded, frowning a little. "Henry's expressed similar frustrations. But…if I may say, just off the record, Madam Mayor has never really been too thrilled about sharing."

"Yeah, but this is a kid we're talking about, not a pack of gum," Emma countered with a frown.

"She's also very protective of her son. It just comes with raising a child," Dr. Hopper finished.

Emma looked back down at the ground, muttering, "Yeah, I guess I missed out a bit on that part."

"But it also comes with being a mother," Dr. Hopper added, giving her a pointed look. "I'm sure you've felt it too."

The woman straightened a little bit and blinked. "Well…sure I have. I mean, of course. I'm the sheriff and…and he's still technically my son."

Dr. Hopper smiled a little. "He certainly is," he agreed, looking down the street and giving a wave to the tow truck. Looking back over at Emma, he added, "Are you sure you don't need a ride?"

Emma smiled. "No. No thanks. Again, I'll just walk."

Dr. Hopper nodded, moving to head back down the sidewalk. "In that case, I guess I'd better get back to the office. Don't be a stranger though, Sheriff Swan."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll think about it," Emma called back, turning to meet the tow truck and giving a small wave to signal it down. As the truck slowed to a stop, the door opened and she could hear classic rock playing over the radio. A man with short dark hair hopped out, dressed in jeans, an olive green t-shirt and a black leather jacket. Around his neck hung a thin bronze chain, the small pendant in the shape of a dragon's claw clutching some glass orb filled with a silvery liquid.

"Having some car trouble?" he asked.

"Reason I called," Emma replied as she watched him move around to the hood. "Well, reason Dr. Hopper called anyway…" Tilting her head, she studied the man for a moment. "I thought the local mechanic was Mr. Tilman."

The mechanic raised his eyebrows and gave her a slight grin. "You think there can only be _one_ local mechanic in this town?" Patting the hood a couple of times, he glanced down at the car for a moment before looking back up at her. "Pop the hood?"

"Oh, right," Emma moved to pop the hood. "Sorry, I guess I just…you know, small town."

"Right." Dean lifted the hood, taking a look over the engine. "Mike's out today. Spending some long overdue time with his kids. I'm picking up the slack." As his eyes darted over the machinery, he mumbled, "Tch, these foreign cars..."

Emma frowned. "What? Do you not know how to fix it?"

Giving her a dry smile, he replied, "Of course I can fix it. Just that, you know, American cars are far more reliable. Especially the older ones."

The blond gave him a look, hands on her hips. "Oh yeah? And what would you recommend?"

"Chevy Impala. 1967 model, particularly. Give it all the TLC it needs and it'll give you a sweet ride for decades to come."

"Hm. Sounds like a lot of work," Emma replied, watching as the man headed back over to the truck and grabbed a portable battery.

"Yeah well. It's also totally worth it," the man replied. Before she could reply, he continued, "Your car on the other hand? It's the battery. I'm gonna see if I can go ahead and jump you off here, save you the towing fee. Otherwise it's coming back to the shop with me. This battery looks pretty old. It may have to be replaced."

"Right, well…thanks. Mr., um…"

"Hunter. Owen Hunter," the mechanic replied, putting the clamps onto the battery to attempt to charge the car back up. Looking over at her, he instructed, "Alright, hop in the car, try turning on the engine."

"Here goes…" Emma said, sliding into the car and turning the key. Nothing.

"You trying it yet?"

"Yeah, I'm still not getting anything."

"Alright." As Emma stepped back out of the car, Owen detached the clamps and carried the battery back over to the car. "Yeah, looks like it's coming back to the shop. I'm gonna need your name and number…also not sure if you're gonna need a ride to anywhere."

"Oh, no, no. It's only a couple blocks from Granny's; that's where I was headed. I'll just walk," Emma replied as she wrote her name and number down on the pad of paper Owen supplied. Handing it back to the man, Owen glanced over it for a moment, then back up at Emma.

"So, the new sheriff. Ms. ...Emma Swan."

Emma gave a small, sheepish smile. "Yeah, that's me," she replied.

"My condolences about Graham. I really don't say this about many cops, but he was actually pretty decent, all things considered," Owen remarked, looking down at the pad of paper. Shaking his head, he then turned his attention to the car. "I'll take her back to the shop; she should be ready within a couple of hours. Business is pretty slow today and a replaced battery shouldn't take much time at all. I'll call you when she's ready."

"Thanks, I'll be waiting," Emma said, handing him the keys to the car and moving to head down the street as he hooked the car up to his truck.

* * *

"Sam?" a voice called out as its owner trekked through the woods. "SAM?" The owner of the voice was trying to keep out an edge of panic, but with each passing second, with every step deeper into unknown territory, it was becoming harder and harder to keep back. Glaring suddenly, he added, "Dammit! I know you're out there, you-!"

"And just whom would you be speaking of?" a man dressed in fur questioned, emerging from the trees with a loaded bow in hand.

The initial speaker frowned, taking in the man's outfit. "Did I land outside the Renfest or something?"

"I know not what you speak of," the man replied, eyeing him warily. "This is the Enchanted Forest."

Giving the medieval man a cynical look, the newcomer looked around, clearly struggling with the urge to sigh in exasperation. "Oh yeah. I just landed outside of a freaking LARP camp. Alright, look man, could you at least give me an idea of how far we are from Bismark?"

"Bismark… I have never heard of such a place." The medieval man replied, a confused frown on his face. But at least now he was slowly beginning to lower his bow. Looking around, he added, "You are looking for someone."

"Oh. Yeah man, am I really that frickin' obvious?" the newcomer replied, giving the man a dry, impatient look. "Some monster just took off with my brother and brought me here to…to the Enchanted Forest."

"A monster?" The medieval man took several steps closer, down the small hill he'd been standing on. "Please. If you could describe this monster you are looking for…" The newcomer looked over at him. "I'm a huntsman. I am very good at tracking, so perhaps I can help you with finding your brother."

"A huntsman, huh?" The newcomer looked around, starting to take a few steps deeper into the forest. "Well you're not the only hunter around here, buddy."

"I also know these woods better than anyone. They were my home."

The newcomer stopped, looking back at the Huntsman, staring at him for a few moments before scratching his head and sighing. "Alright, fine. Let's get started."

The Huntsman looked around, walking a slow, careful circle around the newcomer. "How long have you been walking since you parted ways with your brother?"

"Um…" The newcomer frowned. How long _had_ he been walking since arriving here? "I dunno. Maybe about an hour?"

The Huntsman nodded. "We should probably return to where he was taken-"

"Yeah, about that," the newcomer interjected. "I don't think we really can. Not unless you can get us back to that abandoned Target."

The Huntsman looked back at the newcomer, his expression unconcerned as he was already started backtracking the man's footsteps. "A target shouldn't be too difficult to find in the woods, abandoned or no. So long as we follow your trail back to it…"

The newcomer rolled his eyes. "Not a target target, I mean a department store Target." Noticing the look of confusion return to the man's features, the newcomer sighed. "You don't…know what a department store is. Enchanted Forest. Right."

"I'll admit, I don't understand very much about your kind, even in this realm. But with what I know, this…'department store' is certainly nothing I have ever heard about. This 'Bismark' you come from must be very different."

"Yeah, well, we're not exactly from Bismark, that was just where we happened to be when my brother got kidnapped," the newcomer replied. Giving the Huntsman a wary look, he added, "So you're telling me you're not human?"

The Huntsman paused for a moment before smiling slightly. "It is…complicated," he replied. "But I think it is more than enough information to let you know that I grew up in these woods." Swiftly changing the subject, he added, "What do they call you, anyway?"

"Dean," the newcomer replied, following the Huntsman despite having little hope of the man being able to track his brother regardless of if they made it back to the spot he landed or not. "And you?"

The Huntsman gave a small shrug in return, continuing to move on in silence. Okaaay, people skills were starting to sputter out on the guy.

"…Right. Guess I'll just call you Huntsman."

After continued silence for about twenty minutes or so, the Huntsman finally spoke. "So how did it happen? Could you describe this monster?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself, actually. My brother and I were both out behind the Target. He was talking with some guy. Next thing I know, I'm here in the woods alone and Sammy…" Dean frowned, his voice trailing off.

"The man your brother was speaking to-he was a monster in disguise?"

"Well, no, he wasn't really all that much in disguise, actually. His skin was…kinda green. Kinda gold, I guess? Rotten teeth. Definitely had this whole creep vibe goin'…"

"You're right, that doesn't sound human."

"Yeah, but it sure as hell wasn't Kermit the Frog, either," Dean sighed as they eventually reached a clearing.

"This is the place?" the Huntsman asked, glancing over at Dean.

Dean looked around for a moment before looking back over at the Huntsman. "I dunno. You're the Huntsman; you tell me."

The Huntsman paused for a minute before nodding, beginning to look around. Dean sighed again, idly starting to look around here and there, even though he knew he wouldn't find anything. He'd already searched the place from top to bottom, already tried calling Sam up on his phone. So far? Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Finally looking up from scuffing around in the dirt for a bit, he lifted his head back up and looked around. "Huntsman?" he called out. Already it was starting to get a bit dark, the shadows growing taller and thicker between the trees. "Hey, Huntsman, where'd you go off to?"

Walking several yards from the clearing, he could see the Huntsman standing next to a tree, staring down at the ground. "Hey! Find anything?" Although somehow, he wasn't quite so sure…

The man looked over at him before shaking his head. "No," he replied, turning around and moving to walk past him. "But I might actually know of someone who can."

"Yeah? Like who?" Dean asked, moving to follow.

"The queen of this land, her majesty Regina."

* * *

About an hour later, Emma was back at the office, leaning back in her desk chair as she picked a bit at her sandwich. She had meant to just eat her lunch over at Granny's, but ever since the whole incident with Graham, things had just been kind of…weird. Uncomfortable? Not so much with the people; they all seemed supportive and empathetic enough.

Maybe _that's _what made her feel a little uncomfortable? Something she totally wasn't used to?

Letting out a sigh, she moved a hand to her forehead, pressing it for a moment before the hand slid down over her eyes. "I don't know…" she muttered, even though there was no one else around to hear her.

Whatever it was, something just felt…off. Really off. And she just…she really wanted it to hurry up and end already. Even working as much as she had been lately, it still wasn't doing the trick.

Feeling a chill in the air, she sat up and looked around, setting her sandwich down on her desk. Giving a small shiver, she stood up to check the thermostat, rubbing her arms as she went to investigate with a small frown. "Huh…" She was wearing her jacket, nobody had touched the thermostat (well of course nobody had, she was the only person in the building at the moment). She wasn't entirely sure why she was suddenly feeling so cold. And this really wasn't the first time this had happened; this had been happening off and on ever since Graham died.

"Maybe I'm just getting sick," she groaned, falling back into her desk chair and leaning back again. Staring up at the light, her frown deepened a bit as she noticed the lamp beginning to flicker.

"Oh, first the heat, now the lights?" the blond grumbled. "Graham never mentioned anything about this. Maybe I should call someone-"

"_Emma._"

That about made the woman sit bolt upright and jump to her feet, the swivel chair moving in a light spin in her wake. The color had drained from her face as she looked around. "What-"

That voice, it was so distinct. Practically right by her ear distinct. And whomever it belonged to was freezing, cold as ice. But as she stared wide-eyed at her desk, she could see there was no one there, no one else in the room but her.

But almost even more troubling wasn't where the voice had come from; it was from _whom_. She knew that voice with its distinct accent.

"Gra…_Graham?_"

* * *

Author's Note: This concludes the first chapter to Broken Wings. I'll try and have the next chapter out soon! Please leave a review, let me know what you think! Flames will be used to burn ghost remains. Until next time~!


	2. Dammit Jim

Author's Note-Hey guys, here's chapter two, ready and good to go! Disclaimer with Once Upon a Time and Supernatural: I don't own either of them. Now, on to the fic!

* * *

"_Emma!_"

Once again, the man's voice again, this time coming from behind her, so close she could almost physically feel his presence. Whipping around to see no one once more, she tried to keep the slight tinglings of panic from creeping into her already-confused expression, but it was safe to say that she was already beyond the point of being weirded out.

"I'm…insane," she stated aloud, looking around cautiously as her hand went for her gun. Inhaling deeply in an attempt to steady her nerves, she affirmed, "Yeah. Right. I'm definitely insane." Nodding to herself, she then added, "Or at least I'm getting there."

The sound of her phone going off caused the woman to jump slightly, and she quickly reached down to grab it with a sigh before answering.

"Sheriff Swan," she answered, beginning to carefully maneuver out of her office and into the main room.

"Sheriff? This is Owen Hunter. I was just calling to let you know that your car is ready to be picked up."

"Oh. It is? G…great…" she replied, maneuvering towards the door that led out into the hallway.

After a moment of awkward silence, Owen asked, "Sheriff? Is everything okay over there?"

"Oh yeah, yeah everything's…fine…" Actually, things were kinda getting there now. The room was still empty, the chill had seeped mostly out. If she was going insane, it was definitely coming and going in quick, sporadic bouts. "I'm heading out now. I should probably be there within the next twenty-"

As she swung the door open to head out into the hallway, what she saw made her words drop off in a heartbeat, her eyes growing ever-larger at the sight that greeted her. Her hand with the phone slowly lowered as she gaped at the man in shock, staring into blue eyes of a flickering visage.

"_Graham?!"_

"_Emma…!_"

"Sheriff? Sheriff! Are you okay?" the mechanic's voice called on the other end, broken up by bits and pieces of static.

Meanwhile, the mechanic frowned from his seat at the desk in the garage's lobby, listening as the phone quickly went from spotty to complete static. "Sheriff?!" Frowning as the call suddenly cut out, he stared at his phone for a moment before looking over at the yellow Volkswagen parked just outside.

"…Dammit!" he said, getting up from his seat as he grabbed a set of keys and headed out the door.

* * *

"So how exactly do you think this queen is going to be able to help me find Sam? I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess she doesn't specialize in tracking," Dean mused as they neared the castle.

"And why would you say that?" the Huntsman asked.

"Because she's got you."

The Huntsman was silent for a few moments before speaking up again. "She has her methods. This kingdom is her domain, so if any monsters are traveling through it, she should know. Especially if it tried to snatch somebody away."

"You think so, huh…" Dean murmured, looking around at the forest, then glancing upward to see the spires of the castle between the trees. "That it?"

"It is," the Huntsman replied, looking around. "And not a moment too soon. Night will be settling in soon. The forest is far more dangerous after that. At least to your kind…"

"Aaand here we go again with 'guess what the heck I am'," Dean grumbled as they approached the castle. As the large doors opened and he stepped inside, looking around, he couldn't help but mumble, "Oh yeah, Toto, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore."

Eying the guards warily as they made their way through the halls, he remained ready and on guard for attack at any time. None came. Although by the way it was looking, the deeper they went, the harder it was going to be getting out, if even possible.

_Whatever_, he tried to tell himself. _We've gotten ourselves out of a lot more dangerous situations than this._

Finally arriving in a room with a balcony that overlooked the kingdom, his eyes finally fell upon a figure standing by the fireplace. A tall, slender woman dressed in a slimming gown of dark blue and black with dark hair in a bun turned to face them, eyeing first him, then the Huntsman, then back again.

"Well aren't you an oddity," she remarked, examining his clothes in particular. Looking over at the Huntsman, she asked, "Huntsman, why is he here?"

"His name is Dean. He is looking for his brother, my queen," the Huntsman replied. "And some sort of place known as 'Bismark'. I believe it is the land that he came from."

"Yeah, let's just stick to finding my brother, thanks. After I find him, we can take it from there," Dean interjected.

The queen studied him for a moment, seeming to size him up. "I take it he will not be too difficult to find if he stands out as much as you," she remarked.

Glancing over at the Huntsman, Dean countered, "Yeah, well. My brother and I didn't exactly get the memo that Lord of the Rings was in this season."

The queen eyed him for a few more moments before turning away, walking over to her vanity. "I can find your brother. There isn't much that escapes my eyes. Not in this kingdom especially," she replied. "However, it will have to be in exchange for something. I am the queen, after all; I'm a very busy woman."

"Yeah, well I doubt you take card."

Deciding not to respond to that remark, the queen carefully picked up a flat wrapped package, carrying it over to him. "For example, because of my many duties, I was unable to attend the celebration of a dear old friend of mine: a prince from a neighboring kingdom. This is the gift I was planning to give him. If you could deliver this for me, then I could use that time to find your brother."

"Delivery, huh?" Dean took the package, noticing it was heavy but folded. Looking up at the queen with a skeptical expression, he warned, "You sound pretty confident. My brother was taken by someone and I'm sure they're going to be in hiding. This deal may work out better if you just paid me in some supplies and a map."

"Nonsense. It would be cruel to send you back out to wander aimlessly through a foreign land," the queen purred. "With this deal you get some traveling supplies, a map, _and_ my help. Just deliver that package. And leave the search for your brother to me."

* * *

"Sheriff?" Owen called, pulling the truck up to park in front of the station and hopping out to hurry over to the blond standing out front, staring at the building. Frowning as he took note of her troubled expression and the lack of color in her face, he quickened his pace a little. "Sheriff! What happened?"

"It…it's Graham," Emma murmured, her voice sounding stunned. "He's in there."

"What? Graham's dead," Owen countered, frowning.

"I know he is! But I just saw him, he was right there in the hallway!"

"So what, like, a ghost?" Owen stared at the blond for a moment, his face unbelieving before he finally shook his head, going back to his truck and grabbing a crowbar. "Alright," he said, heading over to the door. "I'll go check it out; just stay put."

"What?" Emma exclaimed as he disappeared into the building. "Owen. Really?!"

Meanwhile the mechanic wandered into the sheriff's office, crowbar at the ready. He seriously doubted it was Graham; the man was _dead_ after all. But some asshole looking to pull a prank on the new sheriff, or even try to threaten her? He wasn't really sure _who_ in Storybrooke would try to do that, but that was seriously not okay.

Hearing a noise behind him, he immediately (almost instinctively) turned to swing the crowbar only to see a flash of gold hair and reddish-brown leather duck quickly out of the way. "Emma!" he said. "I thought you were going to stay outside."

The sheriff straightened with her gun in hand, frowning at him. "Are you kidding me? I'm not letting anyone run me out of my office, ghost or not."

"A ghost. You _really_ think it was a ghost?" Owen replied, giving her a look.

The woman shifted uneasily. "Well…no. No, not really. But I _saw_ him; that was _definitely_ Sheriff Graham. I don't really know of any other way to explain it."

"Yeah. Well are you really so sure that he's actually dead?" Owen questioned, moving to head a bit further down the office.

Emma's expression darkened a bit as she frowned at him. "Yeah. I am, actually. He died right there in my arms. Pretty sure he didn't really have the chance to fake it."

Owen paused by the door, his expression changing to one of regret. "Yeah. Doesn't really seem like the type to be doing that anyway. Sorry," he said before moving to step into the holding room, followed by the blond.

As the two looked around in silence for a few minutes, Emma sighed and looked over at Owen. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to know of a decent electrician or anything, would you?"

Owen glanced over at her as he stepped into the office for a moment to look around. "I know one. He's kinda grumpy though. Why?"

Emma shook her head, walking around the room. No cold spots, not anymore, but… "Oh, just…old building troubles, I think," she replied. "Graham kinda forgot to mention them."

"Such as?"

"Oh, you know. Cold spots, flickering lights. It was actually happening right around the point when I saw…" Her words fell short when Owen turned to look over at her. "When I _thought_ I saw Graham."

"Huh. Weird," Owen remarked, checking under the desk. By this point, Emma was beginning to feel a little awkward, as if they were checking for the monster in the closet. This was silly. Of _course_ this was silly; they were practically looking for a _ghost_. "He was normally on top of that kind of stuff whenever it happened. This place must've started to go as soon as he did."

"Hey, I've been trying to maintain," Emma countered with a frown. "And anyway, so soon?"

Looking at the flickering lamp then back at Emma, Owen replied, "Well, dammit Jim, I'm a mechanic, not an electrician. But I imagine it's about time you got your bulb replaced."

Emma shook her head. "No, couldn't be. I replaced that bulb just a couple of days ago. _And_ it was happening with all of the lights, not just the lamp…"

"Sounds like faulty wiring then," Owen replied. "Either way, flickering lights? Cold spots? Doesn't exactly mean you've got a ghost after you." Grinning a bit, he added, "You know, Sheriff, I wouldn't have really pegged you for the superstitious type."

"I'm not," Emma replied, frowning. "Not really…"

Checking his phone, Owen looked back up at Emma. "Hey listen, I need to get back to the garage soon. I've got a younger sibling who's meeting me there. If you want, I could give you a lift."

"Thanks…" Emma replied with a grateful smile, moving to head back out into the hall. "I think I'll take you up on your offer this time."

Owen grinned slightly, moving to follow her but stopping in the doorway on his way out into the hall, feeling a chill run down his spine. The hair on the back of his neck was starting to stand on end, but why was it that somehow this sensation felt so…so familiar?

"_Dean…_"

Owen slowly turned, staring at the flickering man behind him, his expression in a mix of confusion and shock. "What?"

"_Dean…_"

* * *

Meanwhile, a bell jingled over the door to the dusty old pawn shop as a slender black woman with wavy dark hair cut short stepped inside, heels clicking softly on the floor. Judging from her outfit, it appeared she'd come straight from work, as she was still wearing a white shirt and a red skirt with a white apron, a small white purse decorated with beaded tassels hanging from her shoulder. Taking a moment to look around at some of the items on display, she slowly approached the counter. "Hello?" she called out. "Mr. Gold?"

The curtain to the back room of the shop brushed to the side, but the person that emerged was not Mr. Gold. Rather, a tall young man emerged with brunette hair grown out just past halfway down his neck, dressed in jeans and a light blue plaid shirt. Around his neck, a necklace with a dragon claw pendent, a silvery liquid inside the glass orb it was clutching. "Diana," he greeted with a note of surprise in his voice. "You're back so soon."

"Well, I think we both know by now that I'm not giving up that old building, Andrew," the woman replied, a distinct southern twang to her voice as she smiled.

Andrew tried to return the smile, but it faltered a little in spite of his efforts. "Well, um, you can try to negotiate the price down again, I guess," he sighed, not wanting to cause a blow to her confidence but not really wanting her to get her hopes up too much either. "But I really don't think Gold is going to budge any further."

"We'll just see about that," Diana replied. "I just know I can get him to see the light if I just work a little bit harder at it. And even if I can't, maybe I can at least get him willing to deal in manageable payments."

"Yeah, well. Don't overwork yourself."

"Andrew Trotter, you're the last person to be giving that kind of advice. When was the last time you took a day off?" Diana asked, hands moving to her hips as she gave the young man a pointed look.

Andrew rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, well. Gold doesn't exactly allow days off, not with how much I owe him. Considering that _and_ how I've got to save up for college…"

"You just gotta dig down a little deeper and work a little harder?" Diana finished. She nodded. "Mm hm. Honestly though, because of the whole college thing, I wasn't really expecting to see you here today. I thought you'd be on break, studying up for that test right about now. It's drawing pretty close, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. But no, uh," Andrew let out a small laugh and smiled slightly. "I mean, I was. But Gold's kind of busy right now, so he has me watching over the shop."

"Busy? Busy with what?"

Andrew grinned a bit wider. "It's, uh, actually kinda weird-"

"And really none of your business, dearie," Mr. Gold finished as he emerged from the back of the shop, cane in hand. As Andrew's grin rapidly began to fade, the older man's eyes settled on Diana. "And what can I do for you today, Ms. Pepper?"

"Well, I've been saving up my money a bit more and-"

"Do you have the amount we settled on when you tried haggling for it last time?"

Diana's expression fell into a light frown. "Mr. Gold…I don't have the money entirely just yet. But I could pay as much as I've saved up for so far and do the rest in installments as my restaurant kicks off."

"Right after you sink into even deeper debt paying for the tables, the chairs, the ingredients…everything you would need to call that restaurant a restaurant," Mr. Gold replied. Watching her frown for a moment, he finally sighed. "You know, dearie, I can understand you wanting to own a restaurant. You could get a much cheaper property and open it up a whole lot sooner if it wasn't on the waterfront."

"I know…but…" Diana frowned. "I'm sorry. But that building is very important to me."

"Then I know you will meet every penny of it at the original price that we agreed on," Mr. Gold replied firmly.

The woman frowned at him for a few moments and sighing before looking over at Andrew. "I'll see you later, Andrew. Take it easy." With that said, Diana turned and walked out.

Andrew frowned, looking over at Mr. Gold. "That old mill is practically falling apart. Don't you think you're charging a little too much for it?"

"It is precisely the importance on the building than the building itself that she is paying so much for," Mr. Gold replied. "I thought I taught you better. Don't you understand the business concept of demand, dearie?"

Andrew frowned. "I've heard of milking the price on something for way more than it's worth."

"And that is why you do not run this shop," Mr. Gold replied, looking over at him. "Now, didn't you have some inventory to take or something?"

Andrew gave the older man a look for a moment before finally sighing and moving to pick up his clipboard, watching as his boss returned to the back.

* * *

"Dean!" the young man took several steps forward into the great hall of the castle, eyes darting around. "Dean!"

"He isn't here, dearie," a voice spoke up behind him.

Spinning around to face the impish man, the young man began to advance on him. "Where is he? Where is my brother?"

"How should I know?" the impish man countered, taking a few steps forward to look up at him. "If not for your friend's little interruption, we would have all arrived here together."

The young man stopped, at a loss for words for a brief moment as he absorbed this information before he continued, "Well is he at least…_here_? In this world? We had a deal."

"And I upheld my end of the bargain. You both made it to this realm, I can say that much," the impish man responded, turning to stroll about the room. "Regardless on if he is with us in this castle or not."

The younger man frowned, watching the other for a moment before turning to towards the door. "…Right…" he said, starting to head in that direction.

"Ah ah ah ah ah!" Suddenly appearing in front of the taller man, the impish man smirked. "And just _where_ do you think you're going? We _do _have a deal, after all."

The taller man glared at him. "A deal that will be pointless if he ends up dying anyway!"

The impish man cackled. "That's not really my problem, dearie. My end of the deal merely involved granting you both passage into this realm." Leaning in close and holding up his index finger to point up at him, he added "_Your _end of the deal involved staying. Put."

The standoff was broken as the doors opened behind the impish man, the taller man glancing upward to look at them. The brunette woman who walked inside with a feather duster in hand looked from the tall man to the impish one and back again.

"Rumple…who is this?" the woman asked.

Grinning, the impish man turned to the woman. "Ah, Belle!"

Staring at Belle in disbelief, the taller man looked from the woman to the impish man and back again. "Rumple…?" he repeated. He turned his stare to the woman. "…_Belle_?"

Belle frowned, staring at the taller man. "Excuse me, do I know you?" she asked.

"Very doubtful, my dear," Rumplestiltskin replied. Gesturing to the taller man with a flourish, he continued, "Meet the newest member of our household: Sam Winchester!"

Belle gave Rumplestiltskin a look. "Willingly?"

"Close enough," Rumplestiltskin replied as he shot Sam a look that bordered on threatening.

"Then why does he look like he's trying to leave?"

Sam looked over at the woman and sighed. "I'm trying to leave to find my brother. We both ended up here, but we were separated."

Belle frowned, looking over at Rumplestiltskin. "Rumple!"

"I will tell you as I told him: I fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now it is time for him to uphold his."

"But his brother could be-!"

"I have better things to do than look around for stray puppies. I'm a very busy man, after all." Turning on a heel to face Belle, he continued, "And speaking of such business, I was just about to attend to some before being so rudely interrupted by one's summoning." Shooting a look at Sam, he then looked back over at Belle. "Please show little Sammy to his new room. You should have no trouble finding it, dearie; it's the one you used to have when you first moved in."

With a cackle and a flick of the wrist the man disappeared, causing Sam to sigh and turn to Belle. Belle gave Sam a sympathetic look, tilting her head. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's fine. Look, um…Belle," Sam began, appearing very awkward as he addressed her. "I know the Dark One wanted me to stay put, but I really need to go find my brother. If you could just…look the other way, maybe?"

Belle frowned, troubled. "But if you leave, Rumplestiltskin will find you. And he won't be very forgiving when he does," she warned. Moving in a bit closer when she saw the determination in his eyes, she added, "A-and besides! You wouldn't even know where to start looking. Searching for him would go a lot faster if you could manage to convince Rumple to help you."

Sam pursed his lips at the suggestion. "Thanks," he said. "But trusting Rumplestiltskin is what got me stuck here without my brother to begin with. And besides, he'll just go asking for another price." The man headed out the door of the great hall and through the corridors for a bit, pursued close behind by Belle until he eventually arrived at a rather large pair of doors.

"Wait... Sam, please!" Belle tried again, quickening her pace a bit to catch up with him. "Please, I really don't think this is such a great idea. Rumple is a very smart man but...well, like I said, he's not very forgiving. If he returns and discovers you gone…"

Sam stared at her for a moment, frowning. "Beauty and the Beast…" he muttered under his breath.

Belle blinked, confused. "Excuse me?"

"You're imprisoned here, too. Aren't you?" he surmised.

Belle shifted uncomfortably. "…Sort of, but…well, it's complicated…"

"Then come with me," Sam offered. "I have to leave, but if he comes back and I'm not here, he might end up taking it out on you."

"Oh, well. No. No. Not one me." Belle shook her head. "I trust Rumple. I know it's a bit hard to believe, but I've seen the good in him and I know he would never hurt me." Looking around for a moment with a worried expression, she turned back to Sam. "If you're really so determined to leave, I'll turn a blind eye to your escape. But you'll have to hurry. Who knows when he'll be back here?"

Hesitant, the man finally smiled slightly, and although there was gratefulness and relief on his face, there was slight guilt on his features as well. "Thank you," he said. "Please. Belle? …Be careful." With that said, he turned back to the door, reaching out to grab its handle.

"You too, Sam," Belle replied, moving to turn and walk away.

Sam nodded, grabbing the handle, and in a flash of light, he was gone.

Noticing the flash, Belle dropped the feather duster and spun around, eyes wide with alarm. "Sam?" she asked, looking around. "Sam?!"

* * *

Author's Note-This concludes chapter two of Broken Wings! Please leave a review, lemme know what you think! Flames will be used in Regina's fireballs. Until next time~


	3. So Ghosts

Author's Note-Hey guys, so a few notes with this chapter. Recently Once Upon a Time added in a character with the name 'Isaac', so I've gone ahead and changed the name Gold's assistant to 'Andrew'. That aside, sorry this chapter is coming to you a little bit late. I've been sick as a dog for the past week, trying to recover from an ear infection. I'll try to be a little bit more prompt with the next one. Lastly, for the disclaimer, I don't own Once Upon a Time nor Supernatural. If only. Now, with all of that out of the way, let the chapter commence!

* * *

"Uh…Sheriff?" Owen called over, staring at Graham. Remembering that there were now _two_ sheriffs in the building, he called over, "Emma!"

"Yeah? What is it?" Emma asked, making her way over and stopping several steps behind the mechanic, staring at the flickering figure.

"Are you seeing this too?" Owen asked hesitantly, keeping his eyes on Graham.

"Y…yeah, that's what I've been seeing," Emma replied, giving a shaky nod. Carefully moving to stand next to Owen, she tried, "Graham?"

"_Emma…_" Graham said, looking over at her. "_I…I don't-_" But before he could continue much more, he suddenly flickered out again, although this time he didn't return.

"…Yeah, okay. I don't really like the idea of something lurking just out of view, so we should probably go…" Owen said, moving to head out of the station.

Meanwhile, Emma stared at the spot where Graham had been, still frowning. Now it was more so out of confusion than any real kind of fear. "I don't…?" she repeated softly. "I don't _what_?"

"Sheriff! E-Emma. C'mon," Owen called, waiting by the door to the station.

Emma looked over at Owen. "Er…" She looked back over at the spot where Graham had been standing, as if half-expecting for him to appear again. "Right." Managing to pull herself away, she hurried over to Owen to follow him out the door.

The ride to the garage was mostly a quiet one, and it wasn't until they were close to arriving that Owen finally spoke.

"So…ghosts."

"I know," Emma replied, shaking her head. "I'm pretty confused about it too."

Fairytales. Henry wouldn't stop going on and on about fairytales, but he'd never mentioned anything about ghosts. And why would he? Not that she really believed in any of this stuff to begin with, but what fairytale had _ghosts_ in it?

"I mean, I guess it would make sense that he's haunting the station," Owen continued. "I mean, he practically lived there. Died there too, right?"

Emma frowned and nodded. "Yeah…"

"And I can kinda understand him calling out to you. But who the heck is _Dean_?"

Emma was silent for a moment as the death played over in her mind, not for the first time. But this time, something stood out. "I remember…" she began.

Owen glanced over at her. "That's great. What?" he asked. "Something that can help with this-?"

"No, I mean 'I remember'," Emma repeated. "It's what Graham said right before he died. He seemed very relieved and…thankful for that…" The blond shifted awkwardly in the passenger's seat as her memory didn't stop at what she was saying, continuing on into the kiss that was shared between her and her late boss. But she didn't mention that part. "Maybe he remembered this 'Dean' person? Maybe it was someone that he needed to get into contact with for some reason."

"Maybe. But for some reason, he seemed to be calling _me_ Dean. So what? He thinks that guy is me?" Owen pointed out. "Last time I checked, Owen's been my name for as long as I can remember."

"Maybe there's a Dean somewhere here in Storybrooke…" Emma murmured, frowning. "Or maybe from his past…"

"Graham lived here all his life. And we don't get too many people moving into this town," Owen said, glancing over at her before turning his eyes back to the road. "Something about it being really quiet and boring."

In spite of the situation, the blond managed a slight grin. "I suppose you've got plans for going out and seeing the world," she guessed.

Owen grinned slightly. "Maybe. More so just America than the entire world; I'd rather drive everywhere I go."

"So what's stopping you?" Emma asked, eyeing him curiously. "I mean, clearly you've got the wheels."

"Not the wheels I'd really hope for. And I've got a kid to look out for in the meantime."

Emma's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh. You have a kid," she repeated.

"Yeah, that's what I just-" Owen stopped, then shook his head. "No, no, not like that. It's like I said back at the station: I've got a younger sibling. And unfortunately I'm the only guardian…both our parents are dead, so…"

Emma frowned slightly but looked up as they pulled up to the station. "Thanks for the lift," she said as the truck parked and she hopped out. Owen moved to follow. "So everything's pretty much set to go?"

"Easily," Owen replied as he led her into the office, moving to behind the counter. "Like I said, all that needed to be done was a battery replacement."

"Great," Emma replied as she paid for the replacement.

Owen nodded, shutting the register. "So Sheriff-"

"Emma," Emma corrected, smiling. Brushing some hair out of her face, she added, "I mean, considering how you've got Graham on a first-name basis and so long as his…ghost…is still haunting the station, we've got two sheriffs running around, after all."

Owen grinned. "Alright, Emma," he said. "Listen, I'm going to do a bit of research. On…" He paused, thinking for a moment. "Well, I'm not really sure yet. I don't really _want_ to say ghosts, but considering that's what it seems like we're looking at..." He shrugged. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out. But call me if anything else happens and hopefully we can make sure that everybody gets some peace of mind. Including Graham."

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks…Owen…" Emma replied gratefully, relieved to have someone to share this with. After all there was Henry but…no, considering how wrapped up he was in fairytales already, supernatural stuff was the _last_ thing she needed to get him involved in. "And you've got my number, so…" She nodded, picking up her car key. "So. Right. Thanks. And I guess I'll talk to you later then."

"Right…" Owen agreed, grinning as he watched Emma walk out of the office and out into the parking lot, passing a young blond teen carrying a backpack. Moving to get a few things off the desk, he mumbled, "She's early…"

* * *

"Hey Emma," a voice piped up next to the table.

The blond looked over at the boy with a cup of cinnamon cocoa in hand. "Henry," she greeted, watching as the kid took a seat across from her.

"How's your car? I saw Dr. Hopper today and he said you'd broken down."

"Oh, yeah," Emma waved it off. "The battery just needed to be replaced."

"How was Mr. Tilman?" Henry asked eagerly. "If you needed to call a tow truck, you must've seen him. Are he and his kids doing okay?"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down kiddo," Emma said, sitting back a little. "I actually _didn't_ see him today. Or any of his family, for that matter. I did get to meet a guy working for him though."

"A guy…" Henry murmured, thinking for a moment.

"Hunter," Emma said. "Owen Hunter." She shrugged. "He was actually pretty good with the car; he had everything all fixed up within a few hours." Watching Henry still trying to remember the guy, she paused for a moment in thought, then spoke up. "Hey, Henry."

Henry looked back over at her, taking a sip of his cocoa. "Yeah?"

"This is a pretty small town. You know a lot of the people around here, right?"

Henry grinned slightly. "The people around here _and_ who they used to be," he affirmed with a note of pride in his voice.

Deciding not to comment, Emma continued, "Have you ever met a guy named 'Dean'? Like…maybe a friend of Graham's or…or someone he didn't get along with…?"

Henry tilted his head. "I don't think so. Not over here in Storybrooke, anyway," he replied. "Why?" As Emma struggled to come up with an excuse, his eyes suddenly brightened and he leaned over, his voice quieting a bit for secrecy but still heavy with excitement. "Is this about Operation: Cobra? This is about Operation: Cobra, isn't it?"

"What? Oh-no," Emma replied quickly, shaking her head. "Just…curious. Graham mentioned him briefly at one point before he died-" She paused. "…Pretty close to when he died, actually. I just figured if he had some unfinished business with this guy…maybe I could take care of it." She shrugged. "I mean, it's the least I could do."

"Well…I don't really know of anybody around Storybrooke named Dean, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be the name of somebody back in the Enchanted Forest. It may have been someone that Graham knew back when he was the Huntsman," Henry replied with a confident nod. "I can definitely do some research on it and see what I can find."

Emma nodded thoughtfully, absently tugging a bit at the shoestring tied around her wrist. "Henry…" she began. "That book of yours…it only has fairytales?"

Henry blinked, looking up at her curiously. "Yeah. Why?"

Choosing to ignore that question, the blond decided to press on. "So nothing like ghost stories or anything like that? Nothing really…_weird_?"

Of course she wasn't buying into this fairytale stuff; she never did. She'd be willing to admit, of course, that there were some _weird_ things that went on in this town, but that didn't mean that these childhood fantasies Henry had were true. But hey, believe or don't believe, she was curious now and it never hurt to ask…right?

"Nothing much weirder than some of the standard fairytales already," Henry replied honestly.

Emma let out a breath, although she wasn't entirely sure if she was fully relieved that the day's events probably couldn't be found in this crazy book.

"Why, Emma?"

The question snapped her back to the situation at hand, causing her to tear her eyes away from the shoelace.

"Oh, just…no reason," she lied, trying to remain nonchalant about the whole matter. She wanted him to be let down gently from this whole fairytale thing. And it wouldn't do to have weird supernatural stuff like ghosts and god only knows what else cross over into these fantasies of his, or even to replace the current ones. She smiled a bit, reaching across the table to give his hair a light, playful muss. "I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything in the book that was going make you want to look underneath your bed for monsters like Slenderman and whatever else."

* * *

Black flashed through the trees as hooves galloped down the dirt road. Dean knew the Hanoverian couldn't keep going at this pace, not for much longer, not at this rate. He had traveled for most of the night, ignoring the fact that he barely knew this place, ignoring the need for sleep starting to claw at his eyelids. He was inwardly cursing the lack of sleep he had gotten over the past few days back in…well, back in America (because let's be honest, he was pretty damn far from Kansas, Toto).

But really, as if anyone could blame him. A little hard to sleep with nightmares providing him with sneak previews of his unavoidable gruesome fate, when he began seeing the distortions in the faces of the people around him, when he could swear every damned night for the past couple weeks that he could hear the light clicking of paws and soft growls of hellhounds outside the motel room windows, or their barking off in the distance. Which, come to think of it, _did_ remind him: he hadn't heard anything. He hadn't seen anything weird: no hellhounds, no distortions, no hallucinations of any sort. It was still too soon to tell, but…

"Well I'll be-" His words fell short on finishing the sentence. The irony of those words, and it was still too close to home. He still wasn't sure if he was exactly safe, not yet. Shaking his head, he chose to mutter, "Son of a bitch." He looked around. "Maybe it _did_ work…"

His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a howl in the distance. Hellhound or not, in dark woods like these, that was rarely ever a good sign. "Knew it…" he grumbled.

The man looked back down at his horse, giving her a good kick in the sides to get her to speed up (as they had started to slow down in his distraction). "I know you're anxious, girl, I know. I am too. But if we don't want to be eaten, we probably need to go."

Sure, it wasn't Baby. This wasn't his Impala. But it was good and fast, and he was pretty sure these people had never actually seen cars before. The queen had provided him with this horse, and at least it was black like the Impala…and while he barely knew the first thing about riding horses, he considered himself to be a pretty fast learner. After a few hours of this, he was pretty sure he'd gotten the hang of it.

When he felt he'd ridden far enough, he tugged on the reins, easing the horse slower and slower until it was at a steady walk. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he unfolded a piece of parchment (not paper, _parchment_) to reveal what looked to be an old-timey map. "Now, let's see if we're on track for this Maldonia kingdom…" he muttered, having to squint a little bit. It wasn't completely pitch black, and he had a little flashlight on his keyring, but even so.

As he studied the map, he could hear a faint rustling in the brush, causing him to look up and around at the trees and brush. Glancing down at the horse, he could see that it looked rather alarmed as well. "Whoa, whoa, alright. Let's slow down for just a minute…" he said, tugging a bit more on the reins and beginning to look around. Folding up the map, he slipped it back into one of the pockets of his jacket and moved instead to grab his gun. Granted, it was loaded with rock salt, but it was better than nothing. And after seeing that huntsman, he suspected the gun on him was definitely going to give him a slight upper hand.

Hearing a twig snap behind him, he moved to twist around in the saddle. "Yeah, I thought it wasn't gonna end up being a squirrel-"

The sight that greeted him was a slender figure dressed in a silver cloak, aiming an arrow right at him.

"Don't move and hand over your money!" the figure demanded. The voice was feminine, confirming the gender of the archer.

Dean raised his eyebrows with surprise. "Seriously? I'm being _mugged_?" he said incredulously. It almost made him want to laugh. Of all the things…

"You're being robbed. Now hand over your purse or I _will_ shoot you," the woman threatened, pulling the bow a bit more taunt.

Dean couldn't help but crack a slight grin at the situation. Sure, it was a bit strange to be held up by someone with a bow and arrow, of all things, but the normalcy of just being robbed…

And then there was the fact that dude, this poor woman really had _no_ idea of just how much it really took to scare him.

"Well sweetheart, I don't think you'll have much use for plastic," he countered smoothly. "Look, I _really_ don't have anything you're gonna be all that interested in."

"Really? Then you won't mind me taking those packages off your hands, would you?"

"Yeah, sorry. But no can do," Dean replied, slowly beginning to maneuver his gun from underneath his jacket with tiny movements, hoping upon hope that the darkness of night was going to help with masking the weapon. "These packages? One of them's just essentials for the trip. The other is something that I need to deliver."

"A package from the queen?" the figure asked suspiciously. The bow was still raised. "Just what is she up to?"

"Up to?" Dean repeated. He shrugged, then frowned. He needed to keep her talking if he wanted to stall her from shooting him for just a little bit longer. He needed to take fairly decent aim; being almost point-blank with her arrow, he was really only gonna have one shot at this, after all. "How did you know this package is from the queen?"

"I ask the questions here," the woman replied. "But if you really must know, it's stamped with the queen's seal."

The man glanced down at the package, taking notice of the red wax seal. Huh. So it was. Looking back up at the woman, he sighed. "Okay, listen. I'm new here. You know my good ol' friend Benjamin Franklin?" When the woman remained silent, he quickly continued, "Yeah, that's what I thought. That's all I have on me right now. I don't know where we are, but here? It's just useless paper. The only use you're gonna have for it is building fires with, and I see plenty of good sticks out here in the woods that'll get the job done better."

"Fine. Then give me the package you're delivering," the woman countered.

"Yeah, no, I don't think I can really do that either. And I don't think you're gonna hit me with one of your arrows even if I refuse."

"And just why is that?"

"Because I don't feel so bad if I know my bullet's not gonna kill you."

He pulled the trigger and a shot rang out through the forest. Heels jammed into the horse's side as the thief meanwhile fell back and released her arrow. The arrow flew wild, just past and above him, and when he looked back as he galloped away, he could see her sitting on the ground with her hand to her stomach. Although he did feel a little bad for shooting the lady-especially a lady he was sure was actually human-it _was_ just a rock salt bullet and the woman _did_ kind of deserve it for trying to rob him.

The brush with danger now had his adrenaline pumping. Better than coffee and just the kick he needed to help him go for at least a good chunk of the rest of the night. As he flew down the dirt road with his horse, he couldn't help but to let out a victorious whoop and a slight grin, which then quickly steeled back to a look of determination.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll find you. Whatever it takes."

* * *

_Click_.

_Taptaptaptaptap._

_Click_. _Click._

The floorboards creaked softly before the curtain pulled aside, revealing a more than curious Mary Margaret.

"Emma?"

Emma seemed to freeze for a brief moment from her spot on the couch, but then she looked up from her laptop, her face lit up by the glow of her computer screen. Twisting a little to look over at Mary Margaret, she let out a sigh that sounded almost akin to relief. "Oh, um, sorry." She gave a slight wince, looking down at the clock. "Am I keeping you up? What time is it…?"

"It's three AM," Mary Margaret replied, walking over to take a seat next to her. "Emma. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I just-" The blond looked over at her roommate, and the worry on the latter's face made her words fall short. For a split second she considered telling Mary Margaret about all the weird things that had been going on recently. It definitely made sense not telling Henry about it and not letting him jump to conclusions, after all, but Mary Margaret?

But no, it was crazy. Talking about ghosts, it was almost as silly as talking about fairytales coming to life. Especially when it was with one who hadn't experienced it like she and Owen had.

Forcing a tired smile as she looked back down at the laptop screen to minimize the windows with information and overall lore on ghosts, she finally replied, "Yeah. Work's just been keeping me busy."

Mary Margaret tilted her head a bit in disbelief as she shifted a little bit. "Come on. You can talk to me. You've been jumpy lately, you've barely been sleeping. I'm worried about you." As the blond looked up at her with a slight frown, she continued, "Is it a problem with the mayor? Henry? Graham?"

Emma stared for a few moments longer before tearing her eyes away to look back down at the laptop screen. "Kinda, yeah, actually. It's about Graham," she replied. Stealing another glance at Mary Margaret, she quickly added, "But not in the way that you think." Thinking fast, she continued, "It's...it's work. I'm working on a missing person's case."

"Oh?" Mary Margaret frowned, still worried, but at least now that worry had shifted. "Who are you looking for?"

"Um, it's a guy named Dean," Emma replied. "Graham mentioned him…around the time he died." Hey, not exactly a lie, right? "But only by first name. I figure he may have had some business with him...or maybe a friendship? He didn't exactly specify. You wouldn't happen to know of a guy around town with that name, would you?"

"Hm…" Mary Margaret looked thoughtful as she got up and wandered into the kitchen, opening up the fridge to pull out a carton of milk. "Dean." Emma watched her pause for a long moment in thought before she finally shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, nothing's really coming to me." With that answer, she grabbed a couple mugs from the cabinet and filled them with milk before popping them into the microwave. As she pressed the time in and then 'start', she turned back to Emma. "But you know, I think the town census is kept down at the station. It's not exactly typed up, so you'll have to go through it manually, but maybe you'll find your answer in there."

Emma stared at her for a moment before grinning slightly and letting out a sigh. "Why didn't I think of that…" she muttered. Grinning a bit, she added, "So hey, if you ever get bored with teaching, maybe you can come and help me out at the station some day."

Grinning as well, Mary Margaret turned back to the microwave to get the mugs out as the beeper sounded. "Thanks, but why would I ever get bored with teaching? I love the job and I have to set a good example for the children."

"Oh? And what example would that be?" Emma asked.

"To never give up and always have hope, even when things are looking tough or, even more dangerously, boring." Striding carefully across the room, Mary Margaret handed one of the mugs to her softly chuckling but grateful roommate. "Here," she said, giving Emma a warm smile. "A glass of warm milk is the undeniable cure for a bad case of insomnia, guaranteed."

"Thanks," Emma replied, taking a small sip of the warm milk. Glancing back down at her laptop screen and noticing just how low the battery was (how did it drop so far already?) she smiled sleepily and shut her laptop. "I think I'm actually feeling more tired already. I'll see you in the morning, Mary Margaret."

The brunette smiled, taking a sip from her own mug. "Goodnight, Emma," she said, heading back to bed as Emma headed up the stairs to her own room.

Maybe it was going to be okay. At the very least, maybe she could at least get some sleep tonight. Mary Margaret had a point: she _really_ needed it, especially if she was going to be effective at her job, and especially if she now had these little extra projects of this missing person's case and this…this ghost of Graham. Draining a bit more of the milk from her mug, she set it down on the bedside table, putting away her laptop as she worked on changing and overall getting ready for bed. Now feeling a little warmer than she'd prefer though, she pushed the curtains aside to crack the window-just a little bit, just enough for some of the cool night air to seep inside. Going into the bathroom to brush her teeth, her eyes were drawn to the mirror showing the rest of her bedroom behind her, spitting out her toothpaste as her eyes went a little wide.

No…

It couldn't be.

But sure enough…

The lights were flickering. Maybe she could excuse that. Maybe. The lights would flicker on occasion in this room even before all the weird stuff started going on, but never this violently. But the main thing she knew she couldn't just brush aside were the curtains. They were opened just a minute ago, she _knew_ she didn't shut them. What would be the point of that after opening the window, after all? But now they were shut and even still fluttering a bit as if they had just been moved, as if there was someone was trying to protect her from the prying eyes of another.

"You've got to be kidding me…" she whispered. "_Here_, too?"

Glancing over at the phone she'd tossed onto the bed, for a brief moment she considered calling Owen. No. No way. It was three o'clock in the morning and ghost or no ghost, she didn't know him anywhere near well enough to call him up at this hour.

"Great. This night suddenly just got a whole lot creepier…" Emma sighed as she sat down on her bed. Looking around but not seeing anyone, she decided that what the hell. Maybe this was a ghost, maybe not. And maybe she was going to sound stupid in calling out to this thing? But at this point she was so tired that she was about past the point of really caring.

"Hey, um, Graham?" she called out softly. "Maybe I'm wrong, but…I'm pretty sure at this point that you're haunting me. And I don't know who this 'Dean' guy is, but don't worry. I _will_ find him. But in the meantime...you really need to stop being a creeper and let me get some sleep."

With that said, she flopped over onto her pillow and prepared for yet another night of restless, uneasy sleep.

* * *

Author's Note-Alrighty, that concludes chapter three of Broken Wings. I'm gonna go work more on writing...and recovery... Please feel free to leave a review, the encouragement is very welcomed. Flames will be used for molotov cocktailing assbutts. Until next time!


	4. I'm Not Under Arrest am I?

Author's Note-Hey everyone, it's been a bit but I think aside from some allergies, I've mostly managed to recover. So here's the next chapter, a bit longer than the others thus far. Enjoy!

* * *

_"Rising up! Back on the street! Took my time, took my chances! Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet! Just a man and his will to survive!"_

The blond glanced over at the radio as she entered the garage, scanning it for a moment before her eyes came to rest upon a pair of feet sticking out from underneath a car.

"_So many times, it happens too fast! You trade your passion for glory! Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past, you must fight for your will to survive!"_

Walking over to the feet, she stuck her own foot underneath the car just enough for her toe to touch the rolling platform the mechanic was laying on, pulling her leg back to roll the man out from under the car. The sight that greeted her was not a man hard at work on the underbelly of a car.

The sight that greeted her was instead a man whose eyes were shut as he lipsync'ed to Survivor's Eye of the Tiger while his tools beat invisible drums. And man, in spite of her tiredness, she could not help but crack a grin.

But presumably after catching a whiff of somewhat fresher air, Owen suddenly stopped and opened his eyes, blinking a few times before grinning up at her. "Emma," he greeted, sitting up on the platform, his elbows resting on his knees. "You know, you keep on breaking your car and I'm gonna have to assume you're using it as an excuse to see me."

"The car's running fine. I'm actually here to see you," Emma replied, brushing some hair back behind her ear.

"Oh," Owen replied, trying not to show that he was taken a little bit by surprise by her bluntness. "Well I'm not under arrest, am I?"

Emma's grin widened a little. "Have you done anything I should be arresting you over?" she countered.

Owen thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nope, nothing at all lately," he replied. "So what _really_ brings you all the way out here?"

Emma's grin faded and she was quiet for a moment as she glanced over at the door that connected to the office, then looked back over at Owen. "I…saw him again last night."

"_Again?_" Owen repeated. He shook his head. "You know, I don't mean to criticize, but…have you ever _seen_ a horror movie? Work may be important, but I wouldn't go spending the night in a haunted police sta-"

"It wasn't at the station," Emma interrupted. She paused for a moment, wondering just how silly this was really going to sound, even to a man who actually saw Graham's ghost for himself. But seeing him frown lightly and tilt his head a little in genuine seriousness, she continued, "…I was at home. In my apartment. I think…I think Graham's beginning to follow me."

"He's beginning to _follow_ you? So now he's a stalker?" Owen repeated as he moved to his feet, a disturbed frown on his face. Moving to set his tools down with his toolbox, although also half-pacing, he remarked, "Well _that's_ not creepy at all."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Emma muttered, just as disturbed.

"So it was the same as you've been experiencing back at the station?" Owen probed. "The lights, the cold spots…most importantly, the apparition?"

"Well, yeah," Emma replied. She hesitated, then continued, "I mean, well, no, not exactly. It was…most of those things. But he didn't actually show up in visible form this time." Thinking for a moment, she added, "He did close the curtains though."

Owen arched an eyebrow. "He closed your curtains?" he repeated skeptically. "Are you sure you didn't close them yourself and forget?"

Shooting the mechanic a look, Emma countered, "I'd just opened them to open the window and cool the place down. Not to mention that I was all the way in the bathroom when it happened. You do the math."

"Anyone you live with?"

"Yeah, Mary Margaret, but she was already asleep downstairs. And besides, I would've seen her, or at least heard…"

The two leaned against the car he'd been working on, both heaving a sigh.

"Guy's pretty determined," Owen remarked absently. "Then again, that guy always was like a dog with a bone whenever he was on a mission, huh?"

Emma looked over at him, arms crossed. "You really think he's on a mission?" she asked. "I mean, I guess if there was one…it would be finding Dean. But who the heck is this guy and what does Graham think he's gonna do when we find him? Yell 'boo' and scare him to death?"

"Maybe," Owen replied. "But last I checked, that really wasn't his style." Thinking for a moment, he glanced over at the door and then around the work area to make sure nobody was there with them, then turned back to Emma. "Okay, so…I was doing some research on ghosts last night. A lot of it looks kinda sketchy; I'm not sure how much of this actually holds water if any."

"Yeah, and?"

She could see that Owen was hesitating. Was it really that bad? If it meant stopping the hauntings, getting both herself and Graham some peace, she'd be willing to do it.

"…There was a site for some paranormal group called _Ghostfacers_. They said that if it just came to keeping ghosts at bay, then salt worked and…well, if you wanted to get pretty hardcore about it, a gun stocked with rock salt would do the trick. Iron _might_ work on them too," Owen explained.

"Salt?" Emma replied, frowning. "That's kind of weird, but…okay. I'm not sure how we'll manage the rock salt bullets-" She paused, then looked back at the mechanic. "Wait. You said this would only keep the ghost at bay? Well that's great and all, but I want to do what I can to make sure Graham's at peace too."

Owen scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. That. Um." Again with the hesitation. What was it that he was so reluctant to tell her? "According to the Ghostfacers…we have to salt and burn the remains."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on. You're suggesting we actually dig up Graham's grave and burn his body?!" Emma demanded, horrified. "And you're not _sure_ about this? We're not going to go in and do that on a 'maybe'-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't like the idea either," Owen agreed with a sigh. "But…some of the other stuff? We can at least try it. Salt lines, maybe, and…iron, I guess. Although I think you're right in saying that the rock salt guns might be a little bit of a stretch."

Emma nodded. "I guess I'll pick up a large container of salt at the grocery store then," she relented with a slight sigh. "Maybe if he can't get to me…he'll give up and be at rest. Or something."

"Or something," Owen agreed with a nod. "We'll see what happens, play this by ear. If not, we'll think of something else."

"Right…" Emma sighed, nodding in agreement. Checking her watch, she moved to back away, moving towards her car. "Okay, so…I really need to get going. Henry's going to be leaving school soon, so…"

The mechanic smiled. "Yeah. Go pick up your kid," he said, watching as she hopped into her Volkswagen. "And call me if anything else happens!"

Emma nodded and shut the door, driving off.

As she did, Owen glanced down at his phone as 'Witchy Woman' by the Eagles started playing. Rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh, he answered and raised the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

* * *

"…Fancy place…" Dean muttered as his horse trotted into the kingdom of Maldonia. It appeared that the town had spared no expense in its asthetics, and on top of that there were still lingering signs that indeed a celebration of some sort had taken place. Although the journey had taken him a couple days and he really wouldn't mind getting a little bit of rest in a car or a crummy hotel room, he was anxious to find Sam. He'd been separated from his brother for too long. Who knew what kind of trouble he'd ended up running into alone in this world?

Just drop off the package and hurry on back to the queen. If all went well, this job should be fast, easy and no problem at all. Then he'd get back and hopefully the woman would have at least an idea as to where he could find his brother.

As he rode up to the castle gates, he was stopped by one of the guards.

"Halt! Who goes?" the guard questioned.

Dean tugged on the reins, urging the horse to stop and rubbed a little bit of the sleep from his eyes. "Yeah, uh." He tried smiling slightly, trying to use some of that professional appeal that always managed to work on cops and other agencies back home. "My name is Paul Hendrix. I was sent by the queen of another kingdom to deliver a package." As evidence to his claim, he held up the package. "She said she couldn't make it to the prince's celebration but wanted to make sure he got his gift anyway."

The guard exchanged a look with his partner, then stepped aside. "Proceed," he said. Dean nodded, riding the horse into the courtyard before dismounting and looking around, his eyes falling upon the guard that came over to escort him into the castle.

"You will be checked for weapons before having an audience with the prince," the guard explained, stopping him in the foyer of the castle to frisk him. Well, not the first time he'd gone through the process. Once done (with only minimal argument over his gun; luckily they didn't seem to actually get what it was and he was able to keep it), the guard nodded and escorted him into an inner courtyard, glancing over at him again. "Wait here. I will be back momentarily."

With that said, the man hurried across the courtyard and into a side door, disappearing from sight. Dean shrugged, his eyes venturing around vicinity. Much like the town, there wasn't much expense spared in the vibrant blue and green tilework and the ornate archways that surrounded it. A few small trees and flowers dotted the courtyard although most of it was tiled, and pools of water marked each corner of the courtyard with narrow manmade channels connecting them to another small pool in the center.

"Hello friend! I am Prince Naveen. And this is my valet, Lawrence. What brings you to our fair kingdom?" a cheerful voice exclaimed, causing Dean to turn back towards the door the guard had disappeared through. Walking over was a tan man with dark, lightly curled hair and dark eyes, dressed in a long green tunic with poofy sleeves, black tights and green boots, a wide smile on his face. Following him was another man, this one dressed much more modestly with a black hat and gray hair and far more pudgy in figure.

"Uh…" Looking over Naveen for a moment, Dean shook his head for a moment as he had to convince himself to take this man seriously. "My name is Paul Hendrix. I was sent here to deliver a gift," he replied, holding the package out to the man.

"A gift?" The prince took the gift and turned it over in his hands, his eyes shining with boyish excitement as they flickered over the queen's seal. "It's from Queen Regina?" Shooting Lawrence a look as he opened the package, he grinned. "I _told_ you she liked me!"

"Queen Regina? Sir-" the Lawrence said, looking concerned at this new piece of information.

"Oh, hush, Lawrence. You're always such a worrywart," Naveen chided, although his tone remained cheerful and nonchalant. Discarding the last of the brown paper, his eyes lit up as a luxorious jade green cloak unfolded before him. Embroidered on the cloak was a woven gold border, like vines that connected the lily designs in each corner. "Ashidanza! This cloak is magnificent!"

Dean made a slight face at the prince's tastes, having to physically bite his tongue to avoid snarking off with commentary that would be deemed _too_ offensive. After all, he got here, he delivered the package, now to just get the hell out of here so he could get back to the queen's and hopefully get a lead on where the hell Sammy was. "Yeah, it's very…green." Looking back at the door he'd come from, he began, "I'm just going to go now-"

"Wait wait wait wait, stay!" Naveen invited. "Bear witness my acceptance of this wonderful gift. You must be able to tell Queen Regina if it fits, after all." Before Dean could really reject the offer, the prince donned the cloak in a flourish. Yeah, it fit perfectly, but…

"Not bad, not bad at all!" Naveen commented happily, but now Dean, Lawrence, and the guard were all staring at him.

"Sir! Uh, sir, you're starting to look a little, ah, green-" Lawrence remarked as they all watched green starting to spread outward from the pearl lily clasp, beginning to rapidly cover over the prince's tanned skin like a disease.

"Nonsense! I feel fine!" Naveen replied, clearly not noticing the curse that was beginning to spread over him. Not yet, anyway.

It was about this point where Dean took a step forward. "No, dude, he means look at your hands! You're turning green!"

His hunter instincts and reflexes were beginning to go into overdrive, immediately drawing him closer to the changing prince to try shaking out the cloak a bit in an attempt to find a hex bag. Nothing falling out, nothing sewn in…

Dammit! Where the hell was it?!

Naveen meanwhile stared at his hands as green gradually spread across them. His expression immediately fell, quickly turning to one of outright horror. "What-?!" He watched, powerless, as his fingers began to web together. "What is this?! This can't be hap-" But his words were cut off by an involuntary croak as he suddenly shrunk down, covered by the cloak itself. As Lawrence and the guard rushed forward, the guard shouting for help, Dean pulled away in frustration and defeat.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed. He hated when people became victims to the supernatural, even more so when it was all happening right in front of him. Seriously, how could he have missed the hex bag?! How was it that he couldn't even find it _now_? But then his eyes went wide as words from the thief from earlier rang clear through his memory.

"_A package from the queen? Just what is she up to?_"

Okay, so it really was just as he'd already begun to suspect, and he was inwardly berating himself for not suspecting enough, for not seeing it all sooner. But he'd been so desperate to find Sam…

But no, _now_ he knew who the bad guy really was, and surprisingly enough, it actually wasn't the thief. As things began to click, he glared and turned, racing out the door to get back to his horse-or at least to get out before too many guards were alerted about what happened and tried to stop him.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed, moving to punch a guard that was stepping in to get in his way, elbowing another one in the face. Running out to the entrance, he at least had the comfort of seeing that his horse wasn't quite tied up yet. "Alright, baby, come on," he said, climbing up onto the horse (albeit a bit clumsily because c'mon, he was in a rush and even after a couple days of riding, it was pretty safe to say that he was still pretty easily a novice. Situating himself on the horse and hearing shouting behind him, he glanced over his shoulder and urged the horse into a gallop. "Let's go!"

Galloping through the narrow opening of the closing gates, he breathed a sigh of relief, but his frown still remained. "Man…" he grumbled, still glaring a bit. "I freaking hate witches."

* * *

"So I think I've figured out who Dean is," Henry declared proudly, opening his book on fairytales as he sat across the booth from Emma at Granny's.

Emma raised her eyebrows. "You think he's one of your fairytale characters?" she asked. Not exactly what she was going for, but her search through the census wasn't really turning up leads, and she was willing to play along with this little fantasy of Henry's. And anyway, she'd started to notice that the character relationships in his book often held parallels with the Storybrooke residents he designated roles to-something she suspected had more to do with Henry's psyche than the workings of the book itself. This was crazy. But if she had nothing else to go on…maybe it would help a little. Maybe someone other than Graham actually knew who this Dean guy was.

Right, so, play ball.

"Okay, kiddo. So who is he?"

"He's a hunter," Henry explained, flipping to a particular page of a man on a black horse and turning it towards Emma. "One who worked for the Evil Queen."

Emma frowned. Maybe she'd gotten used to her son having these strange fantasies, especially if they were working as a coping mechanism. But even then, it wasn't like him to be inconsistent. "Okay now, wait a second. I thought you said that _Graham_ was supposed to be the Huntsman."

Henry nodded. "Yeah. He was," he replied.

"I don't remember there being two huntsmen in Snow White."

"This one was a different guy, one from a far-off land. He was looking for his brother when the Huntsman found him and took him to the Evil Queen. But the Evil Queen tricked him into working for her," Henry explained, but Emma was too busy studying the picture with a slight frown on her face. "…Emma?"

"Hey, Henry…" Emma began, her voice soft with distracting thoughts. "Does anyone else in your storybook dress like this?"

Henry blinked, leaning forward and tilting his head a little as he studied the picture. A man with short hair, jeans and a leather jacket, riding atop a black horse? It was more than a little unusual. "Uh…not that I've found yet," he replied. "I can try looking though." Staring at the picture for a few more seconds, he added, "…He kinda looks like he's from this world, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. He's not exactly wearing tights, at any rate," Emma agreed. But surely this didn't really mean anything. So the illustrator of this book got tired of drawing tights and poofy outfits and medieval stuff for a brief time and ended up drawing jeans and leather jackets…right? At worst, it would just be the makers of the book getting a good laugh in as they slipped it past the publishing company. Staring at the picture for a few moments more, she glanced back up at Henry.

Well…Graham knew Dean. The Huntsman supposedly knew Dean. And now there was the possibility that the 'Evil Queen' knew Dean, which would make sense considering she was the mayor of this tiny town…

Emma bit back a groan as she realized her next best lead might actually be Regina.

The blond sat back with the desire to question why this character couldn't have some sort of a tie-in with someone more tolerable, like Jasmine or Ariel. Picking a bit at the last of her lasagna, she looked around as the lights began to flicker. Oh no. Not here, _not here_.

"Uh…" Noticing Henry and some of the other customers and employees looking around as well, she quickly slid out of the booth and moved to her feet. "H-hey, sorry to cut this short, kiddo. But I think I may have just stumbled onto a lead," she lied. "We'll pick this conversation back up at a later time, okay?"

Henry looked over at her curiously, noticing her slightly-frazzled state. "Yeah, but…are you feeling okay?"

"Huh? What?" Emma looked back at him, trying her best to wall off her building concern as she took out some money to leave on the table. "Yeah, yeah, just…" But she shook her head and was already heading across the room and out the door. "I'll see you later, Henry."

As she hurried out of the café, she flipped through the numbers on her phone, but for whatever reason her battery was already looking pretty low. "C'mon, Owen, c'mon-"

With her focus being so much on her phone, she didn't notice the mayor until she'd collided with her, unable to hold back the yelp of surprise as she did. Looking over at the woman dressed in a deep purple pencil skirt and matching blazer, eyes a bit wide from everything that was already going on (not to mention, not here, not now, this was the _last_ person she really wanted to know about her anxiety and ongoing issue), she quickly moved to pick up her dropped phone.

"Regina-" she began.

The brunette gave her a cold look, glaring a little. "That's Madame Mayor to you," she corrected. "You should really watch where you're going, Sheriff."

"I, uh, sorry. Madame Mayor. Excuse me-" Emma replied distractedly, attempting to maneuver around the woman.

Regina narrowed her eyes with a brief look of suspicion, sidestepping to block the blonde's path. "What? No time for the usual witty banter?" she questioned, studying Emma for a moment. Giving her the once-over once or twice, her lips twitched, twisting up into a light smirk. "Well. How the mighty has fallen."

Deciding the phone could handle itself on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes, Emma immediately straightened and shot her a challenging glare. But even she knew her bold attitude wasn't nearly as strong as it normally was. Uneasy days and nights of spotty sleep, weird happenings and the ongoing feeling that someone was watching were doing their number. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've been hearing rumors, Sheriff Swan. Rumors that you've become anxious lately. Jumpy. Even paranoid and unbalanced," Regina replied. Her face was the picture of light concern and might've actually fooled the uninitiated. But at this point, Emma could tell she was struggling to hold back the tiniest of triumphant smiles. "Some even believe that you've begun hallucinating the dead as of late."

The sheriff's lips pursed into a thin line as her eyes stole a quick glance back at the fallen phone before moving back up to the mayor and narrowing. "And just who would these people happen to be, Madame Mayor?" Even though she already suspected who it was. After all, just how many people truly knew about what was going on with her? Especially down to that last detail?

Regina tilted her head a little. "I don't really think I have to tell you," she replied. "In any case, that's not what's really important. If you're seeing ghosts, I don't think you're in any state to be carrying around a loaded weapon, much less working as the sheriff of this town, and even _far_ less in any state to be around my son. At this rate I'm going to _have_ to require a psychiatric evaluation."

Emma glared at Regina for a moment before sighing. "Look, any rumors that you've been hearing about me being paranoid or unbalanced or hallucinating? All of those are just that. Rumors."  
"I don't really want to take that chance," Regina countered almost immediately.

"Yeah, I'll bet you don't," Emma growled under her breath, looking away to regain her bearings before looking back at the mayor. "Look. You want to know the _real_ truth? The truth is that I've been caught up with work, working on this missing person's case for a while."

Regina's eyebrows furrowed. "Missing person's case?" she repeated. "There hasn't been anyone reported missing."

"Ever? Because someone came in only a few days ago asking about some guy named Dea-" Her words suddenly fell short though, because suddenly the air around them on a relatively warm, sunny evening had become ice cold. So cold, in fact, that suddenly she and Regina could see the very breath escaping from their lips. Noticing the confused expression on Regina's face, she could tell that she wasn't the only one who noticed.

…And that's when everything went straight to hell.

Without warning, without _contact_, Regina suddenly went flying with a force strong enough to knock her off her feet and into the shrubbery in front of Granny's. The mayor landed in an ungraceful heap, a tangle of limbs made only more awkward and embarrassing by her outfit.

"Regina!" Emma exclaimed, eyes almost bulging and tone easily alarmed as the other woman struggled to get up, twigs catching on the skirt and hair and blazer. She would've moved to help her, but…instead, she was frozen, staring at the form flickering in the air in front of her. It was still the form of Graham, choppy this time, weak, unstable, but even through all of that, she could still make something out in his eyes.

Rage.

"Sheriff! Madame Mayor!" a voice exclaimed. The voice was enough to snap her out of her shock, pulling her attention to the street as a young man came jogging over to help them. Looking back at the spot where Graham had been, the ghost was suddenly gone, the temperature quickly climbing back to normal.

"Hey, uh," the young man spoke up as he arrived at the scene, looking from one woman to the other. "What happened? Are you two okay?"

Emma stared at the young man for a moment, the plaid shirt, the longish brown hair, the height. In some strange, odd way, this man almost reminded her of Owen, but she couldn't put her finger on why.

"Do I _look_ okay?" Regina snapped, still struggling a little to tear herself away from the shrubbery. "Help me up, Andrew!"

"O-oh, right. Sorry," Andrew said, wincing slightly at his own delay as he offered a hand down to help the woman up. Looking back at Emma, his eyes were a bit wide and questioning. "What _was_ that?"

Regina looked over at Emma with a glare. "An act of violence from an unbalanced sheriff desperate not to lose her job," she accused.

Emma's shock suddenly mixed with anger as she frowned. "What? I didn't even touch you!" she shot back.

"Of course you did! Who else could've done it? The invisible man?" Regina countered.

Andrew looked back and forth between the two women before shifting a bit uncomfortably and cutting in, "Actually, I'm going to have to side with the sheriff. Sorry, Madame Mayor. But I didn't see Sheriff Swan lay a hand on you. To be honest, it almost looked more like you fell on your own, if anything. Maybe almost like a seizure…?"

"It _wasn't_ a seizure!" Regina shot back adamantly, glaring. Finally finishing with brushing all the leaves and twigs off of her outfit, she straightened. "Either way, what difference does it make what _you_ saw? You're just a pawnshop assistant." Turning to Emma, she continued, "But as for you, I don't need you patrolling the streets of _my_ town in the state you're in. Either you get that psychiatric evaluation from Dr. Hopper immediately or I _will_ fire you. And no election, no help from Gold or anyone else in this world will get you back your job."

Having said her piece, the mayor stalked on ahead, walking into Granny's while trying to ensure that all the twigs and leaves and whatnot were off her outfit and out of her hair.

The confrontation but perhaps even more so the overall attack and uncharacteristic rage seen in Graham's eyes that brief flicker left Emma stunned for a few moments, but the spell was quickly broken by Andrew.

"Sheriff? Are _you_ all right?"

Blinking a few times, Emma looked up at the concerned young man. "Um…yeah. Yeah," she replied, still trying to shake off the shock of recent events but giving a nod of conflicting reassurance. As Regina's words from earlier suddenly clicked in her mind, her brows furrowed slightly in surprise. "I didn't know Gold had an assistant."

"Yeah, I uh, don't exactly work in the front very much," Andrew confessed. Extending a hand to Emma, he added, "Andrew. Andrew Trotter."

Emma blinked, then returned the gesture with a firm handshake. "Emma Swan," she replied. Pausing to glance back at the café, she then returned her eyes to Andrew. "Hey, um, thanks for backing me…"

Andrew glanced over at the café before giving a small scoff. "I'm really not too worried about her," he admitted. He didn't really need to elaborate. Emma had the feeling that any employee on Gold's payroll probably felt secure enough to stand up to anyone in town, including the mayor. Or at least, anyone except their own boss, of course. Yet another reminder of just how bizarre the power structure tended to be in this small town. "Oh, uh, here…" He reached out, handing her the fallen cell phone, having likely have grabbed it up during the fray. As Emma took the cell with a small 'thanks', he continued, "Anyway, it's not like I wasn't telling the truth. To be honest, I actually could've sworn I saw…"

His voice suddenly fell short though, his stance seeming to shift almost uncomfortably. After a moment he shook his head. "It's, uh, not really important."

Emma shook her head, eyes a little wide upon realization at how much this guy might've actually seen. "No," she argued. "No, go ahead. It's actually very important." Seeking justification for pushing the young man-and an honest one at that-she added, "Lay it on me, no matter how weird it seems. I mean, there's a lot of strange stuff that goes on in this town all the time anyway…" She paused, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling before she could really get started on a ramble. "I'm the sheriff, so…I really should take a statement." There. That sounded believable and practical enough.

Except the young man didn't really seem to buy it. The look in his eyes, the slight lift in his eyebrows told her that they both knew she didn't really have to take a statement. There was no real case that gave enough reason for a statement. Especially if the mayor had fallen due to reasons of her own. Right?

Except she hadn't. Emma knew that, now she wanted to know if this man did.

Pausing for a couple of minutes, the brunette finally sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, um… Right, so this may sound a little crazy," he began, sounding cautious of his own words. "But I could've sworn I saw the mayor go flying on her own."

Emma frowned slightly and nodded. "Well, yeah. That's kind of what you've been saying, even to Regina herself," she replied.

"Yeah," Andrew agreed. "But after she landed in the bushes, for a split second, I could've sworn I saw Sheriff Graham standing right in front of you."

Emma stared at the man for a moment, then looked around as if to check if anyone was watching or listening to them. At the moment it didn't quite seem so, but she was still feeling the wake of suspicion and even betrayal towards Owen. "You did, huh…?" she murmured.

Andrew eyed her for a moment before sparing a glance at the café and then back to Emma. "You saw it too, right?"

Emma looked back up at him. This time she was the one to shift uncomfortably. His question was an odd mix of a confident statement and a pressing desire for reassurance that he wasn't crazy. But could she really trust him?

Her eyes darted down to the phone in her hand before she shoved it in her pocket. Well, she needed to trust _someone_. And unlike Owen, this guy had already proven himself with being able to stand up to the mayor. Instead of answering his question, she looked back up at him and asked, "Are you in any hurry to be anywhere?"

* * *

Author's Note-And such concludes chapter four. Please leave a review-they're much appreciated and very encouraging! But all flames shall be given to Maleficent to unleash upon the masses later. Until next time!


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